


The Deal

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hawkeye decides she wants a change. Roy helps. It's a metaphor.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deal

**the deal**

He likes the idea of being alone in her room, and he likes turning around when he hears her walk in.

Her hair is wet. This is natural and yet it affects him more than he thought. This is still new and maybe some day he will be used to her walking into rooms (of _their_ own, one day, perhaps) with damp hair but he doubts habit will ever water down the desire.

`I took the chair from the studio,´ he says, turning it towards Riza. `More comfortable to do this.´

She nods - she gives him a towel and Roy starts drying off her hair a bit. He's not quite done this before and yet he does it without thinking. She tilts her head so he can reach over the back of her neck. Roy wants to kiss her there but doesn't - now that he is allowed to he finds odd excitement in restraint, in holding off, thinking _later_ , thinking _all the time in the world_. They have rightfully conquered this absence of hurry.

Riza gives him the scissors.

`Are you sure you want to do this?´ He asks.

`Yes.´

`Last chance to change your mind.´

She shakes her head softly.

`Okay. Sit down.´

She does and he pushes her chair until he gets the best light.

He leaves the radio on - some sort of chamber music creeping on in the background, because it's romantic and they have won their right to be silly and sentimental like this. Because there is no reason to hold back anymore. She's already packed everything except the essential: the cardboard boxes all around them, the naked flat, the afternoon light through the window, is the good kind of sad, the good kind of _something is ending here_ because it also mean something else is starting, everything else is starting now.

When the moment comes he still hesitates. This kind of thing is not possible to fix, if he were to make any mistake. He stands behind her, not sure how to start.

`But are you sure you want _me_ to do this? You could go to a hairdresser instead.´

`It's a metaphor,´ Riza replies, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of Roy behind her, scissors in hand.

`I thought I was the one doing the metaphors.´

`You must be rubbing off on me.´

`Rubbing off on you... mmm... I like that...´

He bends and kisses her nape, holding her hair in his hand and pulling it away, he thinks about doing this when she has short hair. A bright bolt of anticipation. She tenses up a bit, but it's good, they are new at this and each boundary crossed feels frightful and exciting. Each new liberty they take with each other.

`And it couldn't wait?´

`No,´ she says, not turning. `I wanted to arrive in East with it short.´

`There's such a thing as going too far with metaphors. And, you could have asked me what I preferred?´

He is teasing. She knows.

`What do you prefer?´ She asks in a mock vain-young-girl's voice. She touches the tip of her fingers to her ear, the wet hair behind it, coquettish.

Roy's gaze becomes heavy with desire.

`I don't care,´ he says and turns her chair around and kisses her.

She smells and tastes of soap and shampoo and there's wet hair on Roy's face and she rests her hands on his chest for a moment and the scissors are still in his hand and wait, they were supposed to be doing something else, right.

`Er... let's do that afterwards,´ he says, breaking the kiss.

`I'm going to hold you to that promise, you know?´

He smiles. Her back to him once again.

`How short?´ He asks behind her, starting to measure and cut.

`Very short. Remember how I used to wear it?

`Yes,´ Roy says because _of course_ , he remembers, he remembers her with short hair and he remembers watching it grow day by day, and he remembers his own at times nostalgia, when he thought about her and how young she used to look.

And maybe now she could be that young again; maybe they can.

Roy is only passably apt at what he is doing; Riza will need to go to a hairdresser anyway, but he understands that's beyond the point. In the same way that she understands why he needs to sleep alone tonight and at his house and she needs to be here. Why they will meet at the train station. They enjoy forging these little rituals now that they are allowed to. So many things have been communicated by being left unsaid that they not have to say them now, but that's the beauty of wanting to say them anyway.

So there's this moment: he cuts her hair.

He is careful and serious about it. He presses his fingertips along the curve of her shoulder the old, everyday undershirt hanging loose, much skin exposed - and she freezes for a moment with every touch. He does, too, for a moment. This newness. He breathes into her neck and hair falls to the floor. This intimacy. They've been lovers for weeks now. He still needs to learn how to be around her in that knowledge. She still needs to learn how to respond to him. He stares at her wounds that are only half scars just yet. He presses his hand to her back for a second, there are old scars as well.

`Look at me,´ he says and she turns in her chair.

He studies the result and cuts off a couple of long locks from her fringe and he cuts shorter along her temples. When he brushes her hair behind her ears Riza trembles, _tickles_ she says, and Roy takes a step back to look at her properly.

There's a moment when he sees the ghost of another Riza Hawkeye, there's a moment where he believes they have gone back to being their younger selves. But then the details come into focus: the lines around her eyes, the delicate sharpness of adulthood, the open smile that wasn't there in the other Riza, the features much more defined and definitive. Love is somehow accumulative and he loves this Riza better.

`How do I look?´ She asks, almost too casually.

Roy kneels in front of her and lets out a sigh as reply. He runs one hand up her arm tentatively. He brushes some hair off her shoulder. He feels strangely sad for a moment, strangely nostalgic, as if the last trace of a part of his life had just disappeared, one last reminder. Which is exactly why she wanted to do this.

The bite of it - like the sense of loss and completion when you close a good book - doesn't last. He reaches and kisses her brow.

`Are you going to wear it long again someday?´ He asks.

`Yes,´ Riza says and her voice is very sharp, confident. `When you become president of this country I'll let it grow long again.´

He frowns.

`That's a lot of pressure on me.´

She doesn't smile. She grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

`It's a deal.´

`Yes,´ Roy nods. `It's a deal.´


End file.
